


Stop the bus!

by rosol



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: ???? - Freeform, Awkward Flirting, Awkwardness, Cussing, First Meetings, Flirting, Just Chilling, Justice Cabal, M/M, Sexuality Crisis, hoo boy, i love them so here, i wrote this a long time ago but, its literally just inigo crying because owain is THICC, just guys being dudes on a bus, literally how do you tag this, ninja voice : what no thanks??, not really hes chill with it but lets slap that tag in there anyways, thats all the jokes about buses i know, where we droppin boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 17:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17207579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosol/pseuds/rosol
Summary: Inigo sees a hot lady at the back of the bus and intends to flirt with her. However, as Gerome points out, the person is in fact a dude. A really hot dude.Inigo doesn't really mind.





	Stop the bus!

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this a long time ago and its not the best but honestly i love these two. they own my ass. so i decided to upload it! i wanted to make the title a fortnite reference but i feel like i would instantly die if i did that. i hope you enjoy and if people like it i might upload some more content of these two because my gay ass wrote six hundred things with these motherfuckers.

Inigo feels like he’s been struck with a knife. Stabbed right through the heart.

A really hot knife. Like, a knife that causes lots of pain and burning and attraction. 

“Who is that?” He leans over and whispers into his friend’s ear. Gerome shifts in his seat and makes a point of not whispering back to Inigo because apparently he hates him. 

“Who?” 

Inigo elbows him in the ribs, “shut up!” He hisses.

He can’t see Gerome’s eyes but he bets he rolls them, “just describe them,” he whispers back. 

Inigo’s eyes click to the back of the bus where the person stands. He surveys her up and down, then her friend next to her. 

“Well…” He clears his throat. “She has spiky hair. Blonde. She’s tanned, turning her back to us, and she looks strong… Oh, look at those muscles through her shirt. What a woman,” He melts into Gerome’s shoulder, whispers closer to his ear. “She could bench me, Gerome. She’s right at the back of the bus with her friend--” Then the woman does the most amazing thing. To her friends, she flexes.

Inigo literally melts-- like, he falls to Gerome’s lap, he can feel the smile on his face, all dazed and dizzy and in love.

“Just--” Gerome swats at his hands. “Just continue, Inigo, you dolt.”

He nods.

But there’s this lingering burning feeling that never quite goes away. He doesn’t comment on it, something tells him Gerome wouldn’t care, but it’s still there. As if a spell of flame has been shoved right through his abdomen. 

“The friend has red pigtails. Ooh, she’s not too bad, either.” Despite the open windows on the bus, the breeze flowing through and dancing across his face, he still feels like he’s on fire by just looking at this woman. And gods, what a woman she is.

She adjusts her backpack and scratches at her buzz cut. He whistles when he sees her flex. 

“I see…” Gerome starts, then stops.

He looks up to see Gerome’s eyes focused on the back of the bus. There’s a beat where he can see the cogs turning in his head. Like a rusty machine, Gerome’s mouth ticks up, then up, then up and up until he’s grinning. Then he laughs, quiet at first, but growing in volume as the bus shakes and rattles, until he’s cackling so much that he has to shove his face into Inigo’s shoulder. Over the conversations on the bus, Gerome isn’t heard, he isn’t a force to stop the bus from chattering, but he sure does stop Inigo in his tracks. 

“What is it?” He whispers hurriedly, eyes still locked to the duo at the back of the bus. Gerome doesn’t stop laughing. “Geroooome! What is it--”

Then Gerome smacks his hand against his leg, takes in a wheezing breath, and lifts his head up from Inigo’s shoulder.

“That’s a guy!” He says.

Just at that second, the person turns around. Inigo is hit with the freckles first-- the freckles he hadn’t noticed before. Like golden specks across a beautiful canvas, freckles dot along his jawline, his nose, his forehead. He brings a hand up to his face and rubs at his jaw, biceps flexing under his shirt like they’re being restrained by the fabric, like the guy shouldn’t even be wearing a shirt (he’s really not that muscular, really kind of looks like a nerd with his anime shirt, but he’s still impressed). Inigo feels his jaw drop even further at the bluest of blues he ever sees in this guy’s eyes.

The bus rattles past a building, then another, and then the entire bus is filled with a golden light as the sun shows itself. And in the middle of the light, ruffling his hair, is that guy. 

And they’re making the most intense eye contact he’s ever had in his life. 

“Holy--” He feels himself lose his breath like a kick to the stomach. “Yeah, he sure is.”

Gerome wipes his tears out from under his sunglasses, looks to Inigo. Silence, then Gerome snorts, unimpressed as soon as he catches Inigo’s eyes. 

“Really?” He asks.

Inigo nods and starts to push his stuff into Gerome’s lap, “yes. Gerome, you know a week ago when I said I would never touch another man in my life?” Gerome sputters as Inigo’s bag hits his chest. 

“No--”

“Watch this,” is all he says as he stands up and starts to walk towards the back of the bus, still meeting his eyes.

 

\--

“There’s a guy staring at you,” he hears Severa say. He’s been staring out the window for a good portion of the trip, just watching the trees and buildings go by as they circle around downtown. He doesn’t actually hear her at first. But as soon as there’s a flash of red bobbing around, he turns to her and stops his music. 

Owain doesn’t turn around to look for himself, but he does raise an eyebrow to her, “do you suppose he has a bloodlust?”

Severa’s eyes squint towards the front of the bus, then she smirks, and there’s something unidentifiable about her expression, “nope. It sure is some kind of lust, though.”

Next to him Brady chuckles, head resting on Cynthia’s knees. 

“W-What ever could you mean?” His voice raises an octave. He coughs to get it back down. His friends still laugh at him. 

Brady’s eyes turn up from his nails to him, “it means that guy over there is givin’ ya some hot looks, Owain!” He refuses the urge to smack Brady with his notebook, and instead laughs nervously, voice raising yet again. 

Cynthia giggles and Brady’s head bounces with the movement. 

“Just act cool,” Cynthia says. Owain scratches at the back of his head and plays with his earring. He refuses to look back. He refuses to show the guy over there his blush. There’s a second where all his friends are looking to the front of the bus, then Brady starts to laugh.

“What?” Owain side eyes him.

Then Brady snorts out a single word:

“Flex.” 

“What?” 

All Brady does is repeat himself.

“Flex.”

So he does.

He stares right at Severa as he flexes, unsure and very very awkward. 

His muscles are nothing to laugh at (even though his friends often do which, quite frankly, is rude of them). Despite him being a man of many roles (theatre roles, to be exact) and as gay as they come, he still manages to draw in many females. It is quite literally the exact opposite of what he wants in life.

Just strangers. People stare at his muscles or his face, women often comment on how tall he is, how big is hands are. The real keepers are the ones that comment on his Dungeon Master skills. Quite frankly, he is the best of the best. Weaving a story out of nothing but a couple of nerds improvising. 

But guys don’t usually stare at him.

Sure, he’s this hero and harbinger of justice and awesome fencer, but he’s not unapproachable. Is he? 

Maybe he’s a bit too much for other guys. Maybe his Naruto shirt drives them away.

Severa snorts, but then her eyes move from his biceps to the front of the bus, and he follows her emotions as they twist. From amusement, to shock, to more amusement, and then absolute mirth. His other friend’s follow a similar pattern.

When Owain eyes them, still flexing, Morgan finally pipes up from his corner. He’s huddled up in his robes with his book in his hand, cracked open with glasse upon his nose. They appear to be his mom’s (Miriel, if he recalls her name correctly). He looks remarkably comfortable despite the bus ride only being about ten minutes long. How he got so comfortable leaves Owain completely when Severa bursts into laughter, hand slapping against her knee, and he doesn’t want to look completely embarrassed, but he must by the way her laughter increases in volume. 

“He fell into his friend’s lap,” he says brightly without looking up from his book. The bus sways before Owain drops his fist to his side, clenches it, clutches at his shirt (his Naruto shirt), and then almost screams in bewilderment. 

“No--” He’s met with nods. 

Severa wiggles her eyebrows at him, “he’s your type.”

“I, Owain Dark, do not have a type!”

Cynthia cranes her neck to look behind her, “yep. He’s got a pretty face. You might like him!” 

His face is on fire.

It’s weird.

It’s cold in the bus but he is on fire, like a phoenix emerging from the ashes. Like a-- uh… like a….

He sighs. 

What a joke. He’s embarrassed and he can’t even keep up his act. 

“Don’t believe us?” Severa lifts a delicate eyebrow as she scrolls down her phone. He practically deflates, knowing where this will go, because Severa is a bitch and she has that look on her face. “Look for yourself. Or are you… a chicken?” 

His friends gasp, then Cynthia starts to bawk. 

“Don’t--”

Brady joins in. 

Owain groans.

“I’m not a chicken!” He whines. “I’m a-- hero! I’m Owain Dark! Guys seriously!”

A chorus of laughter before Owain finally gives in. He turns around, shoulders slumped, and is met with nothing but confusion. But then he finds the person with the pink hair. The guy who is making furious eye contact with him, who jumps in surprise when Owain turns around, and he almost falls when the bus lurches, as his legs suddenly feel like jelly because of that face. That wonderful face. He doesn’t have any freckles like Owain, doesn’t look to be tall like Owain, has high cheekbones, beautiful brown eyes that he drowns in, that hair that is so windswept and wonderful, that smile that he flashes when he leans in to whisper to his friend. 

He is handsome.

The bus is flooded with light, and even though he can feel himself in the middle of it, he still stares at that guy as he is blessed with the kiss of the sun. Just barely. Like a peck. But he still manages to look wonderful. 

Severa laughs and he turns his head to look at her. Then she stops laughing. He looks back and finds that the guy is shoving his stuff into his friend’s lap (despite obvious protests from the dude with the sunglasses), still making that intense eye contact. Then he stands up.

And he starts to walk towards Owain.

Owain grips onto the pole next to him.

Brady lifts his head up, “the hell is he doin’?”

\-- 

Inigo doesn’t know what he’s doing.

He continues to walk up, though, full intent being on talking to that guy. He’s gotta talk to him. At least once. Put on his flirting magic. He hasn’t flirted with men before, only lovely women, so he’s a bit out of his comfort zone, but he’s sure that men will fall for his charms, as well.

Good lord, what is he doing?

\-- 

Owain doesn’t know what’s going on, but that guy is getting closer, and he feels like he’s about to trip and fall.

And he’s standing still.

\-- 

Inigo can’t do this. Fuck. He’s moving closer and closer at a rapid speed, bridging the distance between the two of them quite quickly, but every step makes him want to throw his guts up and curl up and die. By the time he’s reached the halfway point he’s not sure if he can do this. Everyone is looking mighty uncomfortable back there, a symbolism of how he feels, of how his mind is screaming at him. He’s never flirted with a man before.

\--

Owain watches as the guy comes closer and closer and closer until…

He stops. At the back doors of the bus, he just freezes in his tracks. Owain lifts a solid eyebrow. For a moment he thinks he’s gearing himself up for the confrontation, getting his handsome face super ready so Owain can be swooned. But then he does something odd. He slaps the ‘stop’ button that he stands near with the most energy he’s ever seen a man as nervous looking as him muster up. Then, as the bus grinds to a halt, he turns to his friend and yells something with a divine voice. It’s simply blessed by the heavens.

“I can’t do this!”

His friend shakes his head slowly. It’s a clear signal.

But the guy just takes a straight, neat left turn out of the bus, face red, and yells, “tell my parents I love them! I’m going to go die.” 

There’s a silence in the bus. Then, from the front, the guy that he was sitting with sighs. It’s heard throughout the bus. And then that guy stands up, carefully picking his things off of the seat. He walks very carefully over to Owain. Once they're face to face, eye to eye (er, well, sunglasses to eye), Owain raises a hand in greeting.

“Sorry,” is all he says.

Behind him, Severa and Cynthia start giggling.

“Uh. No worries, my friend!” He swats at them behind his back. They keep giggling. 

The guy shakes his head, distaste clear in the way his mouth curls, “that was Inigo. As you saw he’s… shy.”

Brady snorts.

“I’m Gerome.” 

“You may call me Owain! Scion of legend, harbinger of justice, and all around great guy!” He shouts. “Gerome, your friend Inigo’s soul shone with light! He instantly opened my eyes, pierced the darkness in my soul and gutted me, leaving only pure fire in wake of corruption. He… uh… guys?” 

Everyone is laughing behind him. He stops. His hand is hovering over his eye. He slowly lowers it, but not before coughing into his fist, and raising it in an apologetic second greeting. 

Gerome sighs as if talking to him is the worst thing in his literal entire life. 

“Nice to meet you,” he says. 

Owain feels his soul shrivel up and die. Severa slaps her thigh, wheezing. 

“I need your phone number,” he continues with, pulling out his phone. “Not for me.” 

“Y-You mean he would be interested in speaking with me?” 

“You're the first man he's ever approached… or attempted to. He must have seen something in you.” 

There's a tension splitting wheeze from Morgan. Owain covers his mouth before he can say anything clever, smiling back at Gerome. 

“O-Of course! I am none other than Owain D… nevermind, here you go,” he then rattles off his phone number as he tries his best to quell his friend’s growing excitement. 

Gerome appears to text someone, puts his phone down, and then five seconds later it buzzes and he brings it back up. Behind the sunglasses, Owain sees his eyes squint at the screen. 

“Is he…” a grunt, then he pockets his phone. “I have to… go. He wants--” he takes off his sunglasses for a moment to drag his hand down his face. “He wants to buy ice cream and wallow in his embarrassment , as he puts it. He’ll text you. Don’t worry.” 

All he can manage to say is “okay” and he sounds incredibly small. 

He watches as Gerome hits the button, fingers rubbing at his temples, and then raises a hand in farewell as he exits the bus. Owain stands there, gawking like an idiot. When he turns around Brady already has his hand held up for a high five.


End file.
